


When the Battle

by Emjayelle



Series: Summer Pornathon 2015 (expanded) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon, F/F, Half-Sibling Incest, Isle of the Blessed, Ritual Sex, The Old Religion, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emjayelle/pseuds/Emjayelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is how they will survive. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Battle

**Author's Note:**

> written for week two of the 2015 summer pornathon: Magic of Three.
> 
> quoted words in italics are from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act I, Scene I)

 

 

 

_Enter three witches_

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

In Morgause’s memory, the Isle is unbroken and alive. The hallways, grander than in any palace, are filled with the Goddess’ priestesses. Their chants and prayers echo in the great gardens and verdoyant fields sloping down gently to the water—full of pungent smells of earth and blooming life.

At the center of the temple, the great gleaming altar of stone stands like a beacon. Power pulses through the ground, magic seeping from the Isle’s core—ancient and powerful and all for them, Blessed as they are.

Blessed.

In reality, only ruins and crumbling walls under a permanently overcast sky, only the wind and the rain howling across the stone, only Nimueh, wait for her when she steps off the boat. 

Nimueh’s dark hair flows around her, her dress torn and dirty. Her eyes are also dark, water clinging to her eyelashes, and her cheeks red with cold.

“He killed my aunt,” Morgause tells her. “For her child.”

Nimueh’s eyes are sad. “He killed us all.”

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

In her memory, Morgause is young, her small hand in her mother’s, and the priestesses are tall and imposing. She can barely make things move with her magic, but when an Initiate tells her to take off her shoes, guides her across the lawn barefoot amongst the flowers in the sunny gap between two towers, Morgause’s magic bounces in her veins. It is home, and so is she.

Morgause isn’t a child anymore, and there are no Initiate to show her the way. Only brittle stone. Only Nimueh.

Nimueh teaches her the ancient ways—makes fire burst between her hands even in the storms that blow over the Isle. In the constant greyness of the days that stretch around them, Morgause understands: this is how they will survive. 

Nimueh nods. “This is how he will be destroyed.”

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

The altar’s corners aren’t smooth like they used to be, broken and jagged instead, and the large slab of rock is almost cracked in two. The rains haven’t washed the blood stains yet.

Morgause lies naked on the altar where so many before her have died for the Goddess. Willing sacrifices. Blessed.

She isn’t here to die, though, she is here to be reborn.

Nimueh, so pale in the dreariness, her nipples hard and dark from the cold gale, slides her hand along the inside of Morgause’s thigh and Morgause shivers. 

“You will soon be Hers,” she tells her.

Morgause wants it. Not just for the Goddess, for the power it will give her, but for Nimueh’s touch like this, with her fingers parting Morgause’s lips, dipping in the wetness inside. 

She would do this outside of any rites. Would let Nimueh do it to her every night.

Nimueh’s fingers push inside Morgause, deep until the heel of her hand can ground on her clit in slow circles, until Morgause’s legs jerk and part more. Nimueh’s mouth is soft and wet, pulls heat from Morgause’s toes to her throat, like she’s inhaling all the magic in Morgause’s veins so she can taste it in her mouth. 

Morgause slips her own hand between Nimueh’s legs, finds her cunt as wet and warm as hers, and she smiles, bites at Nimueh’s lips. She keeps her hand still while Nimueh fucks her, feels Nimueh clench around her fingers. 

The skies open over them, cold on Morgause’s overheated skin, magic expanding in all her empty spaces, pulled and reshaped by Nimueh’s tongue in her mouth, her fingers in her cunt, the rolling pleasure it gives her. 

It feels like a blessing.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

When Nimueh dies, Morgause doubles over and retches onto the ground. She is cold for days.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

“Who taught you all this?” Morgana asks, holding her cape tighter around her.

Mist clings to her hair and pale lips, and the dark circles under her eyes are bruises Morgause wants to press into with her fingertips to make Morgana wince as she does. 

Instead, Morgause tells her about Nimueh, her voice damp like the air around them. The dark waters of the lake lap at their barge, and the names on her tongue are muffled and wispy and gone too fast from her lips. 

“I wish I had known her,” Morgana says, squinting into the air. Wet locks of her hair cling to her cheeks but she makes no move to brush them away.

She is beautiful.

There is a scared little beast under Morgana’s skin and Morgause will destroy it.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

Morgana smiles, almost indulgently, puts her hand on Morgause’s cheek. “I want all of it,” she says, then disrobes, the soft fabric of her dress sliding over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, her thighs, down to her feet. She doesn’t flinch in the cold air, doesn’t trip over the uneven ground.

On her back, with all of her skin on display, she opens her legs and reaches for Morgause with a steady hand.

It is natural, to climb on the altar and straddle one of Morgana’s legs, to palm at her waist. And it is good, to see how she arches into it, tilts her hips up when Morgause touches her. The rough stone of the altar on her knees is the right hardness, the right pain to the way Morgana moves with sharp twists of her body under Morgause, taking more of her fingers inside of her.

Morgana’s wet, so wet that Morgause can hear the squelching sound her hand makes, pumping in and out of her cunt, above the wind.

“Let Her inside,” Morgause says, bending down to take one of Morgana’s breasts in her mouth. She licks at the underside, smooth soft skin on her tongue, up to her nipple, rosy and hard. Each quick flick of Morgause’s tongue over it has Morgana clench on her fingers. Morgause sucks on it, then, and moans around it when Morgana tangles her hand in Morgause’s hair to keep her there, keep her sucking and nipping with that delicious pressure on her head that says Morgana doesn’t want her to go anywhere.

“Don’t stop,” Morgana says, so breathy it would have been swallowed by the wind had she not curled in a little, spoken right against Morgause hair and temple. “Keep doing—Keep—Like that—”

Morgause is four fingers deep inside Morgana, now, and Morgana’s rolling into it, demanding more like she could take Morgause’s whole hand.

Morgause scratches Morgana’s clit with the edge of her thumbnail, and Morgana comes like that, hips snapping up, head going back. Her throat is a long white line that Morgause licks at as she rubs Morgana through it. 

Her eyes are wide and bright and golden.

Even through her trembles, still shaking and throbbing, Morgana takes Morgause’s hips in her hands and guides her down on her thigh. “Take it, sister,” she says, mouth wet and red. “Join me.”

Morgause doesn’t ask for more. She looks down at Morgana and rubs herself with hard, fast, rolls of her hips. Her cunt is slick and open on Morgana’s skin and she takes and takes and takes until her own cries bounce across the stones.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

“They tried to kill me,” Morgana says, eyes cold on the sky, and Morgause knows, then, that the beast has died.

Morgana puts a hand between her thighs. Her wetness—and Morgause’s—shimmer in the weak light all over her thighs and stomach. Morgana moans, rubbing faster at herself and Morgause watches, knows the hungry power that pulses through her veins. She pushes a finger back inside Morgana’s cunt to help her, their hands bumping together there. 

Morgana turns her head to look at her, says, “I’ll kill them first,” and comes.

She is dark. And her fury is as beautiful as her ecstasy. 

“Again,” Morgause whispers with her lips on her jaw. She shifts down Morgana’s body, and gives her cunt a wide _wide_ lick.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

Morgause will die on the altar that gave her life. Her blood will spill over the stone. A willing sacrifice. When she looks up at Morgana holding the knife over her head, she smiles.

Blessed.

Nimueh taught her how to burn. 

Morgause’s death will bring ice. 

And Morgana will destroy them all.

 

 

 

0o0o0

 

 

 

_When shall we three meet again, in thunder, lightning, or in rain? When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won._

 

 

 


End file.
